Sick of writing about murder cases following the weary “dead blonde, media frenzy, police fumblings, lucky psychopath” template, Amanda Bailey decides to revisit this provocative case. Her first task: to find the baby, who apparently disappeared into the social-services system and would now be an adult and thus fair game as a subject. But the path to the truth is slippery and full of rocks. People with connections to the case are deceased, untraceable, unwilling to talk. Another writer, Oliver Menzies, is chasing the same story. Amanda’s book editor, Pippa, is piling on the pressure.
“Quick question: Have you found the baby yet?” Pippa emails, two days after Amanda starts work.
The book works as a juicy mystery — what really happened all those years ago? — but is equally satisfying as a story about the combative relationship between Amanda and Oliver, observed and commented on by Ellie Cooper, Amanda’s wry, kibitzing transcriber. It’s also an unlikely ode to the joys and frustrations of shoe-leather research, especially when the case is as crazy and convoluted as this one.
Amanda is a nimble, occasionally ruthless investigator who flatters and sometimes lies to potential interview subjects. Some of her sources flake out, a few mislead her and others are too frightened to reveal much. Worryingly, fatal accidents befall a number of people right before they disclose any information.
“No budget for research or paying experts,” Amanda writes a friend. “At this rate I’ll have to fabricate the whole book.”
In the meantime, after interviewing Gabriel in prison, Oliver turns out to be unexpectedly susceptible to his malign psychic energy. “As I sat there opposite him, I believed he was an archangel,” he says in a conversation recorded by Amanda. (“I can’t believe you two are having this convo,” Ellie interjects in the transcript.)
